


His Personal Battle

by breakdancingsigma (hetawholockvengerstuck)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Engie is Team Dad, Ensemble Cast, Gen, Self-Harm, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 11:29:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3690564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hetawholockvengerstuck/pseuds/breakdancingsigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't that he felt unloved or unneeded. With seven older brothers and a ma who doted on her youngest, it was impossible to feel like dead weight. </p><p>It wasn't that he didn't have people to care about him. It was just that, sometimes, all of that love didn't seem to matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Personal Battle

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Self-harm

It wasn't that he felt unloved or unneeded. With seven older brothers and a ma who doted on her youngest, it was impossible to feel like dead weight. 

Granted, Scout's brothers weren't always the most affectionate. It took an awkward heart-to-heart with Gary to realize that the insults and taunts weren't malicious. ("C'mon, Scoots, d'you really think we'd be pesterin' you if we didn't care about you?") His brothers showed their love by beating up kids who hurt or bothered him, by stealing his food and letting him steal theirs, by calling him Scooter even when he started to go by Scott.

It wasn't that he didn't have people to care about him. It was just that, sometimes, all of that love didn't seem to matter.

Then came the Gravel Wars. Far from his family, far from the people who knew him as Scooter and loved him unconditionally, Scout was afraid. He'd resisted the urges for so long, not for his sake but for his ma's. Now, when he saw her less than once a month, he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep that self-control.

At first the battles kept him occupied. He got shot full of holes, lost limbs, stabbed with swords and knives, and sent through Respawn at an increasingly frequent rate as the teams adjusted to the presence of the Scouts. The adrenaline, the cooperation with his team, and the exhaustion that settled in his bones every evening was enough to keep him from hurting himself. 

Then it became routine, and the urge came back.

The first time he tried, he stopped himself because he had no way of hiding the scars. Leaving them out in the open would make him seem like an overly-emotional, attention-seeking teenager, and he was a  _grown man_ , thank you very much. 

The second time, he made a small nick on the side of his wrist, barely noticeable, completely hidden once he bandaged his hands.

The next time, he made a few more cuts. 

Then more.

Then he got sloppy. He made a cut too far down his wrist to bandage, and had to do his best to hide it. But Pyro saw it, and pointed, and Scout had to scramble to make it seem like Pyro was indicating his biceps.

He left off cutting his wrists--too risky--in favor of his thighs. He'd been making excuses to avoid communal showering for weeks, so there was no risk of exposure. Any new scars got erased by Respawn. And no one had any business looking at his thighs, anyway.

Except for Medic.

He'd forgotten about the check-ups. Medic took one look at the fresh scars on Scout's thigh and knew exactly what they were. 

"You know, if zhere is somezhing you need to talk about, my office is alvays open."

Scout raised an eyebrow. "What, and let you try out some weird experiment on me? No thank you!"

He'd never left the doctor's office so fast.

After that, Scout went a few weeks without harming himself. He didn't want to have to explain any new scars to Medic at his next check-up. But after that passed...

He woke early one morning, exhausted after yet another loss against the BLU's, and couldn't help himself. He snuck down the hall to the bathroom, locked the door, shed his shirt, fumbled around the drawers until he found a razor blade, and pressed it to his belly. Deep breaths: in, out, in, out...

Before he could go any farther, an invisible force wrapped around his wrist and yanked his hand away from his stomach. In the same instant, Spy decloaked.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"What the f--Spy, how'd you get in here?" Scout cast a glance behind him, but the bathroom door was still locked.

"I was in here when you entered. I have been standing in the corner."

"That's...what would you have done if I had to use the toilet?"

"Turned my back, of course. But you are avoiding my question." Spy seemed to tower over Scout, his voice dropping to a menacing tone. "What exactly were you planning to do with that razor?"

Scout had never been  _afraid_ of Spy. He'd been  _nervous,_  sure, but that was a given when you made a hobby of pestering a mysterious assassin with a stick up his ass. But he'd never been afraid.

In that moment, with no weapons in his hand and early-morning stubble still visible under his balaclava, Spy looked absolutely  _terrifying_.

Scout must have been taking too long to answer, because Spy tightened his grip on Scout's wrist with a frustrated grunt.

"Okay, okay, I was...shaving?"

"Your stomach?"

"Mind yer own damn business!"

Wrong thing to say. Spy began yelling in French, shaking Scout's arm around until he dropped the razor blade onto the counter. Then he pushed Scout towards the far side of the bathroom, placed himself between the counter and the boy, and kept on yelling, gesturing wildly with his entire upper body. 

Scout cowered against the wall, unable to grasp the situation. Spy never yelled. He shouted sometimes, short sentences that would otherwise go unheeded, but he never yelled like  _this_. He'd never been this visibly angry, or this loud.

Loud enough to wake the base, apparently, because multiple someones were banging on the bathroom door, and Engineer's voice could clearly be heard about the rest, demanding the door be unlocked. Spy ignored him, too absorbed in his rage-- _why is he so angry?_  Scout wondered--and it took Soldier kicking the door down and Heavy yelling for silence to quell the onslaught of French. Even then, Spy visibly fumed.

"Now, fellas," Engineer said calmly, "I'm not gonna ask why you two were locked in the bathroom together, or why Scout here's got his shirt off. But since the sun hasn't even said 'good morning' yet, I do have to ask: why in Sam Hill are you makin' so much noise, Spy?"

Spy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, exhaled with a force that betrayed just how furious he still was, and said, with effort: "The boy was attempting to...harm himself." He reached behind him and picked up the razor blade, holding it out for the entire team to see. Scout hid his face in shame.

There was the most awful silence, and then Engineer spoke with the sort of calm that belied a deep anger. "Scout. Is this true?"

Scout stayed silent.

"Look at me when I'm talkin' to you, boy!" Engineer shouted. Scout flinched, but did as he was told. "Now answer me! Is. This. True?"

"Y-yes." That was all Scout could say. He had never wanted to flee a situation so badly.

Engineer's nostrils flared as he exhaled. "Alright, this is what's gonna happen. Pyro, you're gonna go with Scout to his room and stay there until I say otherwise. You're gonna keep any and all sharp objects  _away_  from him, you understand?" Confirmation came in the form of a nod and an "mmph!" "The rest of y'all are comin' with me. Medic, go and fetch Sniper for me. We have some things to discuss."

* * *

Pyro was absolutely silent. Eerily so. All Scout could hear was his own heartbeat and breathing, the occasional squeak of Pyro's suit when they moved, and the muffled shouts from down the hall.

_"...can't believe he would..."_

_"...and you didn't_ tell  _us..."_

_"...thought he had stopped!..."_

_"...how long..."_

_"...not my place to..."_

_"...and make it worse?..."_

_"...LISTEN to me..."_

Then the shouting stopped, and Scout almost wished it would come back. Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall--staggering a bit, so it had to be Demo--before a knock on the door was accompanied by, "Oi, the lad's bein' asked for!"

Pyro opened the door and gestured for Scout to go. Demo swayed on his feet outside, far more drunk than most mornings. "The firebug's gonnae search yer room for blades, laddie. The others are in the livin' room or whatever it's called."

He walked with him as far as the kitchen before grasping Scout by the shoulders and saying, "Good luck, laddie. Ah'm stayin' here."

A sharp pat on the back forced Scout into the living room. The door shut behind him with a finality that he probably imagined, but felt very real.

The chairs and couch had been rearranged to make room for the extra kitchen chairs they had brought in, creating a circle around the spot where the coffee table usually was (that particular furnishing had been pushed against the wall). Engineer and Soldier were sitting on the couch with their backs to the door; Medic was situated in a chair beside them; and, as Scout walked in, Heavy moved to block the door. Medic gestured to the nearest chair, but Scout chose instead to sit farthest away from the other men. It was only after he'd sat down that he realized this forced him to face them.

Engineer leaned forward. "I ain't gonna beat around the bush, boy. We're none of us happy about what you tried to do."

"Yeah, I get it," Scout said, trying to seem casual. "You're pissed at me."

"Now, that ain't true."

Soldier gave a short bark of laughter. "Like hell! Boy, what you did was cowardly! Pointless! A bunch of--"

"If you cannot shut up, zhen leave!"Medic snapped. "Scout, ve aren't angry vith you. Just...disappointed."

Scout snorted. "Really? That explains all the shoutin' earlier. And hey, where's everyone else? I thought you were gettin'--"

"Spy is still in far too bad a mood to speak vith you," Medic recited. "Demoman is most likely attempting to drink himself into a stupor. Sniper is taking a valk to clear his head. Pyro is--"

"Searchin' my room, I know. I don't keep that stuff in there, you know. It's not like I want t' be cuttin' myself."

Soldier muttered to himself.

"Then why on earth are you doin' it, boy?" Engineer asked. 

It was one of those rare moments when Scout was at a complete loss for words. Why  _was_ he doing it? 

Because he was under pressure. Because he was always stressed, always on the go, always trying to stand out among seven--now eight--other men. Because even though he had a family who loved him, a job that paid well, decent food, a place to sleep, all he could have ever wanted...even though he had all that, there were times when the world seemed to be crashing down on him, when nothing caught his interest, when he just didn't feel  _good enough_. And on those days, in those moments, it didn't matter how well he'd fought or how many people laughed at his jokes. In those moments, nothing made him feel anything other than deep, crushing hopelessness. The repetition of fighting, killing, dying, respawning, fighting again...sometimes it just felt like he was stuck in limbo, making zero progress, achieving nothing in this out-of-the-way excuse for a town in New Mexico. And with no one to preserve himself for, he'd lost the control he'd worked so hard to cultivate.

That was the answer to Engie's question, but Scout couldn't tell them any of it. What was left of his pride wouldn't allow it. The shame of it, of the weakness it spelled out, kept him from spilling his guts and letting his teammates know what went on in his head.

He expected Engineer to get mad at him again. He expected more yelling. What he didn't expect was the great big bear hug from Heavy, who had crossed the room while Scout was deep in thought. 

"Little man's reasons are personal," Heavy rumbled, and Scout could feel the vibrations of the words all the way down to his toes. "Will tell us when ready. If ready."

"Put him down, Heavy," Medic chastised. "He is not breathing."

Scout landed with a  _thump_  in his chair, and Heavy returned to the door. "So, uh...are we done here?"

"Not even close, Cupcake!" Soldier barked. "You've still gotta answer to yer crimes!"

Engineer chuckled. "Don't look so scared, Scout. We ain't punishin' you. We just wanna make sure you know that what you did scared the livin' daylights outta every man on this team. And I'm not exaggeratin'."

Scout scoffed. "Scared? Please. Nothing scares you guys."

"Ve're not kidding, Scout," Medic said. "Vhy do you zhink Demoman is drunk zhis early in zhe morning? Vhat do you zhink caused Spy to lose his temper like he did? For vhat ozher reason vould ve be here discussing zhis vith you?"

"You are member of team," Heavy said. "You are like little brother. Good friend."

"Well, I don't give a crap about you!" Soldier insisted, crossing his arms.

In a stage-whisper, Medic said, "Yes he does."

"No I don't!"

"You just keep tellin' yourself that, Soldier," Engie said. Then he turned back to Scout. "Look, boy. If you don't wanna tell us what caused this, that's up to you. It's none of our business. But I don't ever want to find out that you've been hurtin' yourself again, ya hear? And I will find out if you do. Medic's gonna tell me if he finds any more cuts or scars, isn't that right?"

The look on Medic's face told Scout that this had been a sore point in the shouting match earlier. " _Ja."_

"So in the meantime," Engineer continued, "I don't want anymore excuses about the communal showers. I'm not gonna make you have a shower buddy, because I want to be able to trust you. But if you haven't got a damn good reason to skip shower time, you're comin' with us. And if the doc calls you in for a check-up, you're havin' a check-up. Understand?"

Scout nodded. "Can I go now?"

"Do you understand me?"

" _Yes._ "

Engineer leaned back. "Doc? Soldier? Heavy? Anything to add?"

"Can always talk to one of us if you need," Heavy said. This gained the approval of the other men in the room.

"In that case, I guess we're done here," Engineer said. He clapped his hands onto his knees and stood up. "Administrator's called for a day off. Don't go gettin' into trouble."

The men filed out of the room. Before Scout could follow, he felt strong hands clap him on the shoulder and spin him around. 

"Wait a minute, Private," Soldier said. "I got somethin' to say."

Scout rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know. ' _No more of this weakness, maggot! Real men never bleed!'_ Right?"

"An admirable impression of me, but you are WRONG!" Soldier shouted. "Now tell me, what have I told you about pain?"

"That it's just weakness leavin' the body?"

"Correct! But there's different kinds of pain, Private. There's the kind of pain inflicted by people or objects. That's the one I've always talked about. There's the kind of pain people feel when they've got  _feelings_. I've always hated that type, but eradicatin' it takes years of discipline that lesser men don't have. Then there's the kind a pain inflicted on the self. That's tricky. That's a whole 'nother category all in itself!

"What I mean is this, Private: there are times when pain releases weakness, and times when it creates weakness. We've all got our own personal battles, son, battles that only  _we_ can fight! And some of us are losin' those battles. I might not be one of them pansy-ass detectives or anything, but I know a fighter when I see one."

Soldier's hands dropped from Scout's shoulders. "Yer a fighter, and you've got what it takes to win this battle. That devil inside yer head that's tellin' you to bleed? He's yer enemy, and it's yer job to kick his ass so hard it gets stuffed in his esophagus! And I know you got what it takes to do just that."

With a sharp salute, Soldier turned on his heel and left Scout in the living room.

* * *

Some might have thought the Administrator's impromptu holiday was a gift. In reality, it left Scout with far too much time to think, and he really didn't want to be doing that. At the same time, he didn't have the courage to approach any of his teammates. He sat on the steps of the base, a pad of paper and a pen in hand, trying to doodle to pass the time and failing to draw anything other than meaningless spirals.

It came as a relief when Sniper sat down next to him, setting what appeared to be a rather heavy cooler on the ground between them. "How ya doin', Champ?"

It occurred to Scout that this was the point in which he'd usually give a cocky grin and a long speech on the merits of being himself. As it was, he was too drained. "Okay, I guess. Tryin' to keep busy."

Sniper nodded. "How's it workin' for you?"

"Meh."

"Still feelin' anxious?"

"I guess."

"C'mon, mate, ya can't have a conversation with one person."

Scout sighed and put down his pen. "D'ya think the guys are mad at me?"

Sniper raised an eyebrow, then laughed. "Shoulda known. Let me guess, ya feel bad 'cuz ya caused us all to worry."

"A bit."

"Feelin' a bit like dead weight, probably. Worried they'll think less 'a ya."

Scout glanced sideways at Sniper. "Are you psychic or somethin'?"

Sniper chuckled. "Not exactly."

Scout narrowed his eyes, then nodded towards the cooler. "So what's in there? Beer?"

"Oh, right." Sniper leaned down. "This is why I came out 'ere in the first place. Got somethin' to show ya."

The cooler was full of ice. No drinks, no snacks, just a whole lot of ice. Scout raised an eyebrow. "Uh...that's great, buddy. Solid water. Real fancy."

"Here's the deal, mate. We got a lot of this stuff sittin' around in the icebox. I make sure to keep the freezer fully stocked. Whenever ya be feelin' like hurtin' yourself, I want ya to go to the freezer, grab the biggest ice cube you can find, and hold it 'til it melts." Sniper tossed a cube to Scout, who caught it easily. "Give it a try. And take off those wrappings."

Scout did as he was told. After a few seconds, his fingers and palm began to sting with cold. "Shit, Snipes, ya tryin' t' give me frostbite?"

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Sniper said. "Now, I can't promise ya it'll work. If ya find it's not enough, talk to Medic. He's got a list of things to help with the urges. Went through quite a few myself before I settled on this one."

Scout almost dropped the ice cube. " _You?_ You tellin' me that you--that you used to--"

In response, Sniper rolled up his left sleeve to reveal a multitude of old scars scattered across his skin. "Not much t' do in the Outback. Didn't have friends, couldn't seem to please my dad, ended up feelin' like a bloody failure. Huntin' took my mind off it, but ya can't hunt all the time. Mum caught me a few times, tried to get me to stop. Did for a while, then fell off the wagon." He rolled his sleeve down and stuck out his right thumb, showing off a nasty bruise under the nail. "See that? Got my thumb stuck in the slidin' mechanism of my gun more times than I can count. It's bound to happen when I reload so fast. Course, it wasn't always an accident. Used to be, it was a real subtle way of hurtin' myself. Easy to pass off as an accident."

Sniper stood up and nudged the cooler towards Scout. "If ya still feel like hurtin' yourself, keep holdin' the ice. Feel free to have a chat with me any time. And I'd stay clear of Spy if I were you. Bastard's still pretty worked up about this whole thing."

Scout growled. "Why the fuck does he care about it so much? He hates me."

"I'd not say that. He cares, in his own way. Won't admit it, of course, but he cares."

* * *

Most of the ice cubes went back in the freezer, untouched and unneeded. When Scout returned to his room for a nap, he found a pair of tiny plushies, one of himself and one of Pyro, along with a crayon drawing of a unicorn and a happy rainbow. Scout smiled and left the plushies on his pillow while he slept, only to be woken up a few hours later by a drunk, sobbing Demoman who seemed intent on hugging Scout to death before throwing up in his trashcan and passing out on the floor. Medic came to retrieve him a few minutes later, grumbling about improper consumption of alcohol. 

At dinner, no one spoke of what had happened that morning. Spy was conspicuously absent from the dinner table, so Medic took a plate of food to Spy's smoking room. 

It took an entire week for Spy to stop lurking outside the bathroom.

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think that Spy gets angry when he's worried, and then it just escalates because he gets angry with himself for caring, then gets angry with the person for making him care, then gets angry at himself for blaming the person...and it's just a vicious cycle.
> 
> This was originally supposed to be part of "Mercenaries", but after I wrote it I felt like it was a bit too heavy for that fic and would do better as a stand-alone. Whether I choose to incorporate it via reference later is yet to be determined.


End file.
